Page 2 of Nica
“Children.”Ms.Patti’s voice held a warning note.“Not in my kitchen.Lucas, go help your dad, we need to be ready when company gets here.Nica, those potatoes won’t peel themselves.Rafe—”
“I know, I know.Keep the peace.”Rafe ruffled Nica’s hair as he passed, dropping a quick kiss against the crown of her head, ignoring her squawk of protest.“Just like old times, isn’t it, sugarplum?”
Just like old times.Except it wasn’t.Because the old Nica hadn’t been hiding something from her family.The old Nica hadn’t spent nights lying awake, thinking about green-eyed doctors with gentle hands and troubled pasts.
The old Nica hadn’t known what it felt like to want something—someone—so badly it hurt.
Through the window, she could see Chance tending the smoker, the rich scent of barbecue drifting into the kitchen.He was whistling something, probably that same country song he’d been obsessed with all summer.The sound mixed with Ms.Patti’s wooden spoon scraping against the sides of a pot, creating the familiar soundtrack of Sunday dinner preparations.
Another afternoon of laughter and stories, of watching her brothers tease and jostle while their mother pretended to be exasperated.Another few hours of pretending her world wasn’t about to change forever.
She just had to keep it together until she figured out what to do.How to tell them.How to face the consequences of choices made in another city, choices that seemed so far away from this sun-drenched Texas kitchen.But first, she had to survive dinner with the Winters family and their brand-new son-in-law.And some subtle and not-so-subtle hints about Nica still being single, and how maybe they could find a nice boy for her.If only they knew.It would be hard enough to not think about the fact that Gabe was joining them, just like he had so many lunches before.
Just another Sunday in Shiloh Springs.What could possibly go wrong?
Gabe Summers grippedhis truck’s steering wheel tighter as he turned onto the long drive leading to the Boudreau family home.The white two-story plantation house rose before him, stately and intimidating in the late afternoon sun.Just like its owners—old money, old values, a lifetime of hard work, and a whole lot of Texas pride.
The invitation had come, as always, through Ms.Patti after church.“You’re coming to dinner, aren’t you, Gabe?”she’d asked, though it hadn’t really been a question.In Shiloh Springs, an invitation to Sunday dinner at the Boudreau ranch was like winning the lottery.Nobody turned down an invitation to Ms.Patti’s Sunday supper.It held a certain cachet, helping maintain your standing in the community.
Community standing.He almost laughed at the thought.If they knew what he’d left behind in San Francisco, what whispers still echoed through the halls of Stanford Medical Center…but they didn’t know.
He shouldn’t be here.Every Sunday dinner invitation he accepted was another chance for someone to notice.Another risk that his carefully constructed new life could come crashing down.And yet, here he was, a covered dish of his mother’s recipe for apple-blueberry cobbler on the seat beside him—because in Shiloh Springs, you never showed up empty-handed to Ms.Patti Boudreau’s Sunday dinner.Not that she expected anybody to bring food.Nope, there was always—without exception—more than enough food to feed an army.An army of Boudreau males, the whole kit and caboodle of them.Eleven sons, foster boys, lucky enough to have been raised by Douglas and Ms.Patti.And that didn’t count the ones who’d showed up again over the last several months, the ones affectionately called Ms.Patti’s “Lost Boys.”
Shaking his head, he let out a soft sigh.
I can’t believe I baked.Jill Monroe’s going to laugh her butt off when she sees this.
Jill Monroe co-owned the town’s new bakery, How Sweet It Is, with Ms.Patti.The woman made the best cakes and cookies he’d ever tasted.But he’d had the urge to bring something, wanted to contribute a dish to Sunday supper at the Big House that he put together with his own two hands.
He still got a kick out of people calling the Boudreau ranch the Big House.Sounded more like a prison than a loving family home.Bet the boys kind of felt that way when they’d been in the foster system and sent to live in the middle of the country.But he well knew how much affection and outright love lived in this home.Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like to be brought up in a house filled with all the love Ms.Patti showered on those who were fortunate enough to fall within her gravitational pull.She was like the sun, the center of Shiloh Springs’ universe, holding everything together, with everyone circling around her.
Including me.
As he pulled up behind Chance Boudreau’s black pickup, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair on the front porch.Nica.His hands tightened on the wheel again, but for an entirely different reason.She was wearing a pale blue sundress, her hair loose around her shoulders, and the sight of her hit him like a physical blow.
“She’s too young for you,” he reminded himself.“Too innocent.Too everything.We made a mistake.”
But that hadn’t stopped him three months ago when—
No.He wouldn’t think about that night.Or almost every night since.Right now, sitting in front of the Boudreau family home, he couldn’t afford to remember the way she’d felt in his arms, the soft sounds she’d made, the way she’d whispered his name like a prayer.Guilt ate at him, knowing the secret they shared would hurt so many people when it came to light.
“Get it together, Summers,” he muttered, killing the engine.He was a respected physician here in Shiloh Springs, not some lovesick teenager.He had a reputation to maintain, a practice to run.
A past to keep buried.
He lifted two fingers from the steering wheel in greeting before climbing from behind the wheel, his practiced small-town doctor’s gesture.But his heart hammered against his ribs when she met his eyes, that same spark of recognition, of shared secrets, passing between them.
Gabe grabbed the cobbler and climbed out of his truck, forcing a casual smile, and waving at Rafe.He didn’t stop, wasn’t ready to make small talk with Nica.Didn’t want to see in her eyes what he knew would be there.
Regret.
Guilt.
But there’d also be love.
Instead, he kept walking around the side of the house to the humongous deck Douglas had built at the back of the ranch house.Of course, with a family that size, it had to be big.
“Doc, glad you could make it.”Douglas waved the pair of tongs he held in greeting.That man never let anybody but himself man the grill.Not until he was satisfied everything being cooked met his standards, which meant perfectly cooked brisket, chicken, ribs, burgers, and hot dogs.He’d heard around town Douglas had won several barbecue and grilling competitions, and he didn’t doubt it.He’d eaten enough of the man’s brisket and ribs to know they were competition worthy.
